


Learning to See

by Japesprit (clusband)



Category: Hiveswap
Genre: AU, Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angst, Descriptions of Sign Language, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Organized Crime, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2019-11-21 19:45:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18146615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clusband/pseuds/Japesprit
Summary: One job gone wrong, one year to pay off the debt. When your hands are tied behind you, you wonder whose hands are pulling the strings.(Marvus x MSPA reader organized crime AU)





	1. Monachopsis

You wake up slowly, then with a start. Your first instinct tells you to panic, but you know better. With the hood over your head, your hyperventilated breathing could suffocate you in minutes. So you wait- you’re a very patient person!

Situation check- your wrists have been bound to a wooden chair by duct tape. Are you a part of some sicko’s horror movie or something? It’s such a ridiculous stereotype that, in your hysteria, you can feel the beginnings of laughter bubbling in your chest. Your torso is bound likewise to the chair, this time with the smooth slide that suggests a silken rope, and the hood over your head is a soft cotton- these people have expensive tastes. Your ankles are free, which startles you as you test out a kick and nearly fling off your shoe. Unfortunately, the chair is bolted to the floor. There go your plans for kicking in the door and walking out of here, chair, hood, and all. Looks like you got caught.

You listen- you hear no soft susurrus of fabric against someone’s skin as they breathe. No thumping of footsteps above, below or around you. You listen a little harder, for softer sounds of life. There is a faint rustling that you quickly recognize as the autumn wind through the leaves of the trees above you. You’re on the first floor.

You remove your shoes and scrape your bare feet against the floor. The slide of dirt gives way to the catch of rough, untreated wood. You knock your heel down and listen to the echo- you’re in a cramped room, and, judging by the hollow sound of the echo, you’re the only thing inside. You’re outside of the main house, in a shed.

Well, you knew the risk when you took the job. If you’re going to be waiting a while, you may as well relax.

With this, the adrenaline leaves you in a flood. The back of your head is pounding so hard, you fear your eyes may very well leave your skull. Your shoulders are sore and stiff like they’re filled with small stones, and your ass is so sore that you have to put weight on your feet to relieve the pressure. You wonder how long you’ve been here.

It’s not like you can leave. You make yourself as comfortable as you can, letting your thoughts wander. And you sit. And you wait.

__

The silence of your captivity is finally broken with heavy footsteps, around 35 minutes later. As anxious as you are, relief floods through you- it’s about time someone checked up on you.

The hood is removed from your head with a surprisingly gentle touch. As your eyes adjust to the sudden light, you find yourself seated before a woman with a face like a peach, in both shape and complexion. She’s got a motherly softness to her- in any other context, your primal hindbrain would have been screaming 'safety at last!' But as you meet her gaze, a cold, slick thrill of fear runs itself down your spine and to your gut, curling itself neatly in the deepest depths of your belly. This woman is bad news- from her cold, dead eyes to her beauty pageant perm. As she speaks, the slow lilt of her southern drawl lulls your eyes shut. She’s a study in contradictions, and you want simultaneously to have her hold you in her arms and to run screaming in the other direction.

“Looks like you mis-stepped, little one,” she finishes off her sentence with a lazy smile, folding the hood in her hands neatly and crossing her arms beneath it. You watch her gaze draw down to your bare feet. “Getting comfy?” she gives you the same lazy smile, although this one reaches her eyes. You couldn’t get your shoes and socks back on with just your feet, and why would you want to besides? Who knew how long it was going to take before someone came to deal with you.

You slow your breathing- you hadn’t realized you were starting to panic again. Now’s the time to be polite, figure out what’s going on and whose ass to kiss.

“Nice perm, asshole,” you say instead. Who doesn’t love a force of habit? Fuck, that’s definitely not going to get you on her good side. She doesn’t react, but you can tell that she heard you. Amusement sparkles in her eyes, and it’s such a contrast to the cold, deep dark that was there previously that the anxiety spikes in you tenfold. What is up with this woman?  

“Not many people can do what you did,” she digs around in her pockets, fishing out a pocket knife. She unfolds the blade and pokes it languidly into your chest, angling between two ribs and pointing at your heart. “I’m impressed. Someone like you could be a big help around here. If you had a trustworthy bone in your little body.”

“If you want your bone in my body so bad, you could try asking nicely,” you splutter out, backing further into your chair to escape her knife. You joke, but your mind is racing- you have an out, as long as you don’t fuck this up tremendously. You clench your eyes shut with a hiss of pain as she leans some weight onto you. She pointedly doesn’t laugh at your joke. Oh well- not every joke is a winner. The knife cuts into your shirt and carves a line into your skin. The sweet pleasure-pain of it all helps to clear your thoughts. You think of your options- refusing is sure to get your throat slit and your body thrown in the bay. You could figure out a way to double-cross her, say yes and bide your time… No, that would never work, she’s clearly a professional. But so are you, and you know that sometimes the right answer is the simplest.

“Yeah, I’ll work off my debt to you. Then I’m out. No games, no obligations.” You open your eyes again and get lost, captivated by the sight of your blood rolling down the blade, flowing down her thumb and dripping off her knuckle.

She leans more weight onto you, grabbing you by the chin and forcing you to look her in the eye. “That was succinct, if distant. You’re savvy,” she says as her face draws ever near. Her expression is so serene and kind that you wonder if maybe she might kiss you. This is all very confusing. Oh fuck oh fuck you can feel the blade sinking deeper into your skin and what, is she trying to pry your chest open with her knife or something, because ow, and-

The silken rope around your torso breaks with a loud “Snap!” She must have seen something she liked in your eyes because soon she’s cutting away the duct tape that binds your wrists to the chair (and ripping the duct tape from your skin with quick, rough tugs, taking some of the hair of your arms with it, ouch). The shakiness of your legs must incite pity in her because she grabs you by the forearm and helps you to stand.

“There’s no reason we can’t be friends,” she says, digging her nails into the flesh of your arm after you find your feet firm beneath you.

So you take her arm firmly in _your_ hand, smiling as genuinely as you can up at her. You look forward to a very strange partnership.

___

You’re able to negotiate your debt down to a year of service, but that’s only after you promise Chahut (as she introduces herself) that you’ll pass on some of your secrets. For instance: How did you break into her family’s mansion? What did you know about her family? What were you after? Who’s in this with you? Easy questions, but difficult answers- you’re thankful for the time she’s granted you. She brings you inside for tea and you find an ease with her- now that she isn’t trying to terrify you, she’s pretty sweet. You notice the way she twists her wedding ring around her finger when she’s annoyed with you (but trying to be patient). You notice the way her hands gesture in time with her speaking- ASL, if your guess is correct. Old habits never die, you think with a smirk. You enjoy putting together the little pieces of her puzzle. Maybe her spouse is deaf. Maybe Chahut is, and she’s a prodigious lip reader.

You find comfort in the small, octagonal cubby the two of you have stowed away in, right next to a flight of stairs yet somehow away from the hustle and bustle of her maids. And you find comfort in the silence between the two of you as your negotiations draw to a close. She was right- there’s no reason that you can’t be friends. If you’re going to work for her for a while, you may as well make good use of your time. You look out of the four french windows in your space, letting your hands warm around your cup of tea. It’s one of those autumn days that everyone dreams about but rarely sees- the wind is soft, caressing the browning leaves of the trees like a mother soothing a child. The sun is close to setting, and the word is alight in the residual golds and coppers of its light. On the lawn, you notice three children running and playing, jumping in piles of leaves and throwing armfuls of leaves at each other. A petite woman chases after them, laughing as they pelt her with leaves and she falls dramatically to the ground.

“My son, Karako” Chahut points to the smallest of the children, a little boy of around 8, his hair a wild halo around his head.

“And my wife, Chixie” Chahut doesn’t need to point to the small woman out on the lawn- it’s pretty obviously her- but she does anyway, with such a proud smile that you feel it in your heart. Chixie stands, graciously accepting the help of the twins, wiping the leaves off of her sweater dress. She turns and meets Chahut’s loving gaze with a smile brighter than the setting sun. She gets Karako’s attention and points up to the two of you. Karako waves with his entire body like an excited puppy- he’s got the same kind of sunny smile that Chixie has. Chahut waves back and makes a sign. First, she points at him, then, with two fingers, touches the tip of her nose before bringing them down across her chest to make an ‘x’ shape over her index and middle fingers from her other hand, parallel to the table. Karako nods before he runs off in search of the other two children. Chixie signs back- she points to herself, then taps her chin with her index finger, and points to Chahut. Chahut blushes, then turns back to you.

As sweet as this scene is, it brings you more questions than answers. You realize you’re at a disadvantage here and make a note to yourself to pay attention to the gestures Chahut makes as she speaks.

“Let’s move on,” she says.

__

It turns out that your first job is… cleaning, and you’re less than thrilled. Chahut brings you to the kitchen to meet her second in command- a long, lean woman named Marsti. Her short, dark hair is slicked back above her cool, impassive eyes and you notice the tan lines on her skin, suggesting a habit of wearing long gloves and long sleeves, rolled up.

The first month spent with Marsti is long and grueling, but you’re thankful for the work. Marsti is difficult to get along with even on her best days- every sentence you say to her ends up being the wrong thing to say. Every action you make can be improved- do it faster, make it neater, can you please be quiet with that. Every song you hum is a song that she hates. You would hate her, and maybe you should, but you don’t, if only because you’ve learned more from her than you have from your entire career in being sneaky. You notice the signs of your improvement day by day. When you cook dinner now, people eat it. When you’re asked to clean up, it doesn’t take you all day. You can dice a carrot in 15 seconds and sear a steak so beautifully that it brings a tear to your eye. No dust escapes your scrutiny and you actually know how to fold fitted sheets.

But most of all, she’s taught you how to be quiet. How to keep your head down and listen, and perhaps it’s this that Chahut wanted to teach you all along. You ghost your way into rooms, unnoticed and unimportant, and people talk.

You learn, listening to two of the maids in the laundry room, that the head of the family is on vacation, and Chahut is planning to take his place. And you do notice how, while Chahut never takes charge or makes demands, people defer to her anyway.

You learn that Karako is adopted, and that Chahut and Chixie are good friends with the woman that runs social services. Bronya stops by for dinner nearly every night, not only to eat but to say hello to Karako. She helps you learn sign language- how are you, thank you (this one proves hard to perfect), and don’t touch that (which turns out to be your go-to phrase with Karako). She’s infinitely patient with you, even after her long days at work, and you do your best to make sure you always have her favorite snacks- soft baked pretzels with the fancy, whole grain mustard she likes; the fancy chocolate cookies with sambuca and powdered sugar (which turn out to be Karako’s favorite as well); Korean style barbeque chips. It’s the little things you can do for her, and every kindness you show to her brings a sweet, slow smile to her face, like a flower unfolding in the midday sun.

You learn, helping Karako prepare a sandwich while Chahut and Chixie take stock of the kitchen, that Marsti is paying off a debt that her parents forced her into, borrowing money from the family in order to send her to a good med school. She’s nearly finished paying off her debt, and a little thrill of anxiety sparks in your gut. You hope you weren’t brought in to take her place.

And Marsti warms up to you, slowly. As you learn to keep your mouth shut, you learn that she likes to be heard. She loves her job here (and you send a prayer of thanks to whatever God or messiah is listening), and she loves to cook. She spends a lot of time in the garden (you learn that she grows most of the vegetables here), and while she is interested in medicine, she sees it more as a sort of hobby. When she smiles, it’s sad, and when she laughs- rare as it is- it’s silent, the laughter shaking her body and her breath leaving her in huffs. You end your nights watching shows about medical anomalies and surgeries (gone wrong!) and she trash-talks the narrator the entire time.

She lets you in on some of her secret, experimental recipes- eel stuffed with figs in an orange glaze, with lentils and dark, grainy bread (not well received, she makes notes on a little notepad that are completely inscrutable, and she tries again). Spicy Thai style sausage sandwiches with tomato pesto, caramelized onions, muenster cheese, and rye bread (very well received by almost everyone but Chahut, and you learn that Chahut can’t handle spicy foods). You retaliate by showing her new ways to organize the silverware drawers (lots of little boxes, everything now has its proper place), how to fold the napkins to save the most space. She scoffs at you, but you notice that she quietly takes your best ideas into her regime.

The second month brings Marvus into your life.

__

It’s a rainy day and you’re struggling to bring in all of the clothes in from off of the line. Marsti is busy drying off the floors and doing her best to convey to Karako that he needs to wipe the mud off of his feet before he comes inside. Her ASL is limited, but she’s having a better time of it than you were.

You bring the sodden wad of clothing, sheets, and under-things inside and then into the basement to hang up. Marsti taught you where the warm drafts from the dryer were, and you do your best to hang everything up so they would dry without catching mold or mildew, ringing out the rainwater over the sink.

As you make your way back up the stairs, sweaty and wet and just generally uncomfortable, you hear footsteps. Lots of them, heavy and urgent across the floor. You stop, your hand on the rail and a basket of laundry perched on your hip, and watch them all cross your field of view in the doorway. Instinctively, you keep quiet. The first people who cross your vision are obviously bodyguards- aggressively postured, ridiculously muscled. These people don’t interest you- it’s well known the Makara family had connections to politicians, celebrities, and police. Only one man catches your interest.

While all of his bodyguards carry luggage and suitcases, he carries nothing but his posture. His steps are slow and measured, suggesting stage training, and, even though the sun isn’t out, the limited light from the overhead lamps and chandelier seems to draw towards him, working hard to shine off of the deep brown of his skin, glinting gold in the drops of rain that never left him. His locs, which reach impressively to his mid-back, are twisted around themselves and tied back in order to keep off his face, and while he’s dressed simply in a pair of gray sweatpants and a purple tank top, he looks expensive, untouchable, like his skin would fall away like gold leaf at the slightest touch.

As soon as you take note of him, he’s gone. His absence leaves you like a sunset leaves the earth- everything gets just a little darker, just a little colder. You hate that. You decide not to dwell on it, and make your slow way back upstairs. It’s a new month, and Chahut has an assignment for you. You place one foot in front of the other and make your slow way up the stairs.

___

You have to go back outside to meet with Chahut- luckily, the rain has died down to a slow drizzle.

She’s standing, quiet and serene, in front of a pond, throwing scraps of carrots out to the ducks. You’re surprised there are still ducks this far north- surely by now, they would have started migrating south?

“As I’m sure you’ve noticed, my brother is home,” she scowls as she says this, twisting all of her words as they leave her mouth. “Along with all of the trouble that accompanies him.”

You nod, deciding to let her continue instead of blundering your way through this conversation. You know that family matters can be tense, and you aren’t technically family.

She turns to you with a sigh, letting the tension drain from her neck and shoulders as she wipes the rain from her forehead.

“Why did you break into my house?” she asks. You notice the possessive ‘my’ with a smile, and file that away for later. While her words aren’t accusative or angry, you wonder just how much you should let slip. If you tell her too much truth, she might not believe you, but if you lie, she definitely won’t.

You chew on her question for a moment- it’s a complicated answer, in truth. You decide that it might be easier to let her chip away at you until she’s satisfied, instead of releasing the floodgates all at once.

“Information,” you say, meeting her gaze, crossing your arms in front of your chest. You hope you look as frank as you feel.

“What kind of information?”

“All kinds. Who’s the head of the family, what do you have in your house, what kind of soap you use,” you list off from your fingers. “No ill intent, just curiosity. Imagine a library- I work in the reference section.” This metaphor always makes you laugh- your best friend came up with it, and, with a rush of shame, you realize that you got so caught up in your work that you’ve completely forgotten to contact him.

“Who sent you?” she asks. Her face is a perfect mask, but you’ve spent enough time with her to read her. As she brings her thumb to her chin to sign ‘who,’ the flutter of her index finger is quick and anxious. When she brings her hand down to point at you, it’s with fury.

“I sent myself,” you say. “I have many friends who work alongside me, but I do my best work alone.”

She nods, turning away from you to observe the ducks again.

“We have a meeting with a rival family in two months time,” she says, unprompted. “Marsti goes back to school this month, so you’re going to be there in her place.”

You know she doesn’t mean as her second in command, but the pride and excitement flood you anyway. You nod your understanding, and she continues.

“You need to take notes- who is there, I need names and descriptions. What was said- I need these statements verbatim,” Her face has gone firm, her posture tall and regal. Even her signing is blunt. She’s very scary when she’s in charge. You feel an instinctive sort of fear- you could never forgive yourself if you failed her.

Still, she couldn’t have chosen a better person for the job. The word ‘serendipity’ floats around in your head- this whole thing is falling into place almost too perfectly. You vow to fit the pieces of this particular puzzle together at a later time. For now, you listen attentively.

“And you’re going to need to learn how to protect yourself in a fight.”

Oh, shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monachopsis: The subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place.


	2. Opia

As it turns out, training how to fight starts with real, physical exercise. 

Chahut sets you up with a meeting with her tax auditor-slash-personal trainer, a woman named Stelsa. At first glance, Stelsa is a very tidy woman- from the neat cloud of her afro, pulled back with a pink patterned scarf, to the perfect balance of the blends of pinks and teals spread throughout her outfit. It’s intimidating, and you instinctively straighten out your shirt, stand a little taller.

The moment she opens her mouth, however, you’re immediately set at ease. She’s friendly and talkative- so much so, that it takes some practice and some patience to get a word in. Her quick Manhatten accent steamrolls through every introduction, every protest you make. She talks fast, she walks fast, she’s difficult to keep up with. Chahut catches your eye as you step into the car with Stelsa and gives you a knowing smirk.

She runs through the schedule she has planned for you- you’re instructed to do 30 minutes of yoga and stretching per day- she tells you all about her favorite youtube videos and which tactics to avoid. At 7 am, every other day (you wince at this- you’ve never woken up before 9 before), she’s going to meet you downtown for some light jogging. You catch a glimpse at the clock now- 6:57am. That explains your athletic outfit.

Stelsa is a master at setting attainable goals. Your first two weeks of jogging, your objective is to repeat 8 sets of a 1½ minute jogging, 2 minutes walking pattern. It sounds easy, but by the fourth repetition, you’re out of breath and your calves are tight.

“Focus on your breathing!” Stelsa manages to yell this at you and sound encouraging at the same time. You notice that she hasn’t even broken a sweat yet. Ouch, your pride. But Stelsa is the expert, and you do as she says. Every footfall forces your ragged breath out of your body, and every stretch forward with your leg pulls your diaphragm down, drawing breath into your lungs naturally. It’s an easy pattern to find, but a difficult pattern to keep. The time is up before you know it.

Stelsa calls time by coming up beside you and patting you on the back. She’s all congratulations and pride- she honest to God jumps up and down in excitement- and it rubs off on you. Hell yeah, you did it!

As it turns out, the route you took led you right in front of the door to her apartment. Her keys jingle merrily as she finds the lock, and she helps you up the stairs, lingering thoughtfully in her doorway as she trails her fingers along the mezuzah. You touch it too, on your way in, and take note of her space.

Her apartment is just as tidy as she is. Every poster is perfectly aligned (you delight in the multiple cat posters- “Hang in there!” and “Pawsitive Catitude!”), every file cabinet clearly labeled. Tucked away in the shady north corner, you notice her apartment isn’t completely perfect. There’s a black hoodie thrown over an armchair, a huge textbook with an intimidating gavel pictured on the front (lovingly marked with an array of colored post-it notes), and a leftover mug of… something.

Stelsa notices your gaze. “My girlfriend,” she says with a fond exasperation, crossing her arms and adjusting her glasses in an attempt to hide her blush. You nod, smiling softly at her, as she tells you to make yourself at home. She leaves you to make some tea, and you take a well-needed rest on her couch.

Her desk faces a pair of large windows that show off a breathtaking view of the neighborhood- the park across the street, the ice cream vendor on the corner, the luxury highrise building peeking above the trees, blocks and streets away. The sunlight hits your tired legs at just the right angle, and you drift off to a place somewhere between a detached awareness and a peaceful sleep as you listen to her speak loudly on her Bluetooth in her kitchen.

Stelsa interrupts your rest with the clatter of teacups rattling against their saucers. You hadn’t even noticed that she’s straightened up around you. On the table in front of you, she’s placed an array of meats, cheeses, and fruits along with some toast and jam. It’s a lovely start to your morning proper- very fancy- and you follow her delicate movements as she picks at the platter. 

In moments, your belly is full and you’re sleepier than ever. Stelsa makes light conversation with you about your training schedule, and she impresses upon you how strict her own schedule is. You nod in understanding, lacking the necessary energy to joke with her or to give her a hard time.

She stands abruptly. You follow, stretching out your back and your shoulders then reaching down to stretch out your hamstrings. 

“Ready for the weights?” You let out a groan and look at the clock- 7:35 precisely.

__

The soft light of the sun wakes you from a blissful sleep. You check your phone- 6:37. It’s as good a time as any to get started on breakfast, tired though you are. A fond smile sneaks its way onto your face as you slip your feet into your pair of slippers- Marsti got those for you on your second week. You thought at first that she was being passive aggressive- no shoes allowed in the house was a rule she strictly enforced and you strictly forgot- but as you got to know her, you saw the caring behind the gesture. On these chilly Autumn mornings, you find a simple joy in just keeping your feet warm and cozy.

You fill up the electric kettle and turn it on. You place some toast in the toaster and push down the lever. The toaster is kind of a pain in the ass, too fancy by far with so many buttons that you get a tension headache just looking at it. You replace the butter in the butter dish- you’re about to use the last of it. Every motion is automatic- you’re well practiced in this routine by now. You let your thoughts wander as your mind slowly wakes up and catches up with your body.

Your groggy reverie is broken by the sounds of two sets of laughter, steadily approaching; one you recognize- the loud, honking laughs of Karako- and one you don’t- goofy, masculine laughter. Context clues tell you that it must be Marvus. The two of them bust through the door- you’re surprised the two of them haven’t woken up the entire house. Marvus has his hands outstretched, fingers bent as he threatens tickles, as Karako races forward and slams face first into you.

“Oh shi- shoot,” Marvus continues to laugh as he censors himself. “Sorry bout that.” You nod and sign ‘good morning’ to Karako. It’s one of your favorite signs to make, if only because it was the first one you mastered- easy to remember and enjoyable to sign, with its sun over the horizon motion.

Karako bustles about the kitchen, bringing an assortment of sandwich ingredients to the counter beside you, deli meats and condiments crammed comically in his small arms.

“I’m Marvus,” Marvus holds his hand out to you, formal but friendly. You shake his hand as you introduce yourself- it should be awkward, but his friendly smile is genuine and his hand is warm. You feel at ease with him almost instantly. It's a little unnerving, but you push that feeling aside for now.

He sits- there must be something in your face that betrays how tired you are because he leaves you alone for the most part, turning away from you to make his sandwich. You set about making your tea, and, too late, you remember your toast. The toaster beeps as the toast pops up, charred and completely ruined. You hear Marvus laugh beside you.

“Not a morning person, huh?” he teases, elbowing you. You grumble in response and he smiles as he holds half of his finished sandwich out to you. He cuts it diagonally just like you do, and a small feeling of comfort settles right in the depths of your belly. For all of the friendly banter and fun you’ve had, making yourself a part of this world, this is the first gesture that truly makes you feel at home.

You bring the sandwich to your mouth right as you see Karako waving his arms frantically to get your attention, slicing his hand across his throat anxiously. He sighs in defeat as he watches you take that first, fateful bite.

The first flavor that greets your tongue is mayonnaise. A lot of it. Spicy mustard follows its wake, and even the distinct flavor of rye can do nothing to quell the assault on your taste buds. You don’t even get any sort of meat or cheese or tomato in your bite, nothing. You lift the top slice of bread and your suspicions are confirmed- one measly piece of salami and half a piece of swiss cheese are on chilling on the opposite side of the sandwich, as if they, too, are doing their best not to partake in the awful concoction that Marvus managed to make out of his breakfast.

“Eugh, this is awful,” you hide your smile behind your hand, not wanting to offend, but. Just. Not strong enough for another bite, manners be damned.

Instead of being offended, though, Marvus laughs and laughs and laughs until he’s doubled over. Even Karako has joined him- traitor.

“I can’t believe I got you with that,” Marvus finally says, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. “There’s a reason they keep me out of the kitchen.” He takes a bite out of his half of the sandwich and grimaces, but forces it down.

Now that you think about it, you realize you haven’t seen him in the kitchen. Ever. Actually, you vaguely remember Chahut escorting him out of the kitchen like she was holding a kitten by the scruff. You laugh at the memory, then you laugh at the prank. 

“I’ll make breakfast, then?” you ask. Marvus gives you a sheepish look, nodding, and Karako tilts his head at you (eat-morning you sign, you’re pretty sure that’s right- either way, he must understand the jist of it, as he nods enthusiastically)

It’s scrambled eggs and heated up vegetables from last night, then. You consider making toast, but abandon the thought with a spark of irritation. Damn toaster. 

You make sure to give Karako extra squash- his favorite- and you make sure to give yourself the cheesiest parts of the eggs. The two of them accept their portions gratefully, and you finally find some peace and quiet while they eat. You take a sip of your tea, forgotten. It’s gone cold. Damn it.

Karako helps you clean the table before running out of the kitchen in a flash, and Marvus conspicuously does not help clean up and he does not do the dishes. No way, not on your watch- you’ve been working with Marsti for far too long to let that slide. You give him your best glare as you look down at him from down your nose, arms crossed. You jerk your head to the stack of dirty dishes and he holds his hands up, appeasing, as he helps to clean up.

Karako returns with a bottle of nail polish, holding it out to Marvus and signing “want,” the demanding grasp of his fingers, palm up, as he grips the bottle is so cute and silly on his tiny frame, it warms you all the way through.

Marvus sits back down- and he only got about half of the dishes done but you aren’t going to complain. Progress is progress and you’re thankful you were able to convince him to do any at all. He shakes the bottle and helps Karako paint his nails- bright, acid green. The color reminds you of those poison dart frogs you saw at the zoo last summer.

You catch a flash of yellow on Marvus’s leg as his gym shorts ride up a bit. A bandaid, comically clownish with its multicolored balloon animal print.

“Nice bandaid. I didn’t know they came in more colors than canvas beige,” it’s small talk, but you aren’t ready to leave the kitchen and start the day yet. 

“It’s the reason I’m up so early. It’s Monday,” you struggle to connect the two sentences together. He tilts his head at you, teasing. “Mondays are when I take my t-shot. I don’t get a lot of free time or privacy when I’m out on the road. 6 am‘s about all I got.” He doesn’t sound sad about this- his tone is resigned and he gives you a nonchalant ‘what can you do, am I right?’ shrug as he turns back to Karako. 

“I like having the mornings just for me,” he says. You don’t catch any tone that suggests that you’re intruding, but you wonder if maybe you should leave. Give him his morning back. Just as you gather all of your energy to stand, and you debate on making another cup of tea, he catches your eye again. He’s apparently finished painting Karako’s nails, because he caps the nail polish. You wonder if you should tell him the color would last longer with a top coat, but you decide against it. You’re feeling shy all of the sudden, like you should say more about yourself. He is very friendly and very fun and you are not in the mood for it. But you wish you were.

“Thanks for breakfast,” he gives you a bashful look, and it’s startling in its sincerity. He looks like a Disney prince. “And the scolding.” He laughs gently, like he thinks maybe you’ll scold him some more. “Nobody’s ever done that for me before.”

Argument bubbles up all in your chest- he lives in a mansion with literally a dozen servants on hand at a time. But you hold your tongue, grasping desperately for his meaning. It doesn’t come to you, unfortunately, and he leaves you with a touch to your shoulder.

You were right- one small touch, one brush of his skin against yours and his gold leaf rubs off on you. You leave the kitchen, ready to face the day, and your world shines just a little bit brighter.

___

That afternoon, you find yourself back in the shed where it all began- the empty space, the rough untreated wood. It’s a memory that you’re growing quite fond of. You close your eyes and take a deep breath- the sharp, sweet smell of cedar fills your lungs and you let it out in a slow rush. You find the hatch that leads down to a secret basement. Chahut’s hidden weapons room- this is where you’ll be training to defend yourself.

As you descend into the basement, a thrill of excitement starts a flame throughout your body. You’re excited to be starting something new. You open the door and nearly smack right into Karako. That’s the second time today- you vow to listen for him next time.

“What are you doing here, little guy?” you ask before belatedly signing, hands at chest height and index fingers wiggling, pointing back and forth between the two of you in a clumsy ‘what are you doing?’

“He’ll be your teacher,” As always, Chahut has an excellent flair for the dramatic. She closes the door from behind, startling you with her presence. 

“Karako?” You give her a wry smile- surely she’s joking? 

“Of course. Unless you have fighting experience that I don’t know about? Have you been trained before?” Her voice is patient, but you catch the flash of light as she twirls her wedding ring on her finger. 

“No, it’s just-”

“Then I’m sure you’ll be at Karako’s level by the end of the month," she flicks her hand at you, disinterested. " _If_ you’re quick. And if you pay attention,” with this, she turns away from you and sits in front of her weapons wall. On the wall is a variety of dulled training weapons- the diversity astounds you. Who’s going to be charging in with nunchucks? You imagine Chahut in a Jackie Chan pose and fight to stifle your laughter. Karako races forward to grab at a well-worn pair of serrated knives, but Chahut stops him (you don’t need those today, she says/ signs). You meet Karako in the center of the ring.

“Lesson one,” Chahut starts. “Know your enemy.” With this, she signs at Karako, palms facing each other with the four fingers bent to point tip to tip, thumbs up, pushing away with the backs of her fingers from her chest.

You don’t have time to process the sign, because Karako charges at you with a shout. You dodge left and he rolls onto the ground. Impossibly fast, he brings one of his heels down into the hem of your pants and uses the weight of his shoulder to push into your hip, knocking you off balance. You fall, hard, to the ground without even thinking about retaliating.

Karako looks to Chahut with a proud smile, and Chahut gives him a thumbs up. “One point for Karako.”

You find your way back to your feet, woozy with both adrenaline and embarrassment.

“When you aren’t very strong, you have to find unique ways to take your opponent down,” Chahut steps in, corralling Karako gently out of the sparring ring. “Notice my posture,” She’s standing, head lowered and feet placed wide apart. “Watch how I shift my balance as I come at you.”

She moves in slow motion, bringing the heel of her right hand towards you as she pivots on her right hip. With her left hand, she grabs you by the wrist and mimes breaking your arm with her palm. A shudder runs through you at the thought.

“Where can you knock me off balance?” She asks you. She resets and you watch her with more scrutiny this time. As she pivots, the weight shifts from her center onto her left hip. You point there, and she nods. “Good. Move with me.”

And so you spend the next hour watching Chahut move in slow motion and learning to move with her. You learn that, generally, you can watch someone’s hips, knees, and spine to see where they’re off balance. Chahut shows you different ways to push and pull her to bring her down, and, when she’s satisfied, Karako comes back into the ring.

You rush at him, palm first, and he pulls you straight to the ground.

___

As your training comes to an end for the day, you catch up with Chahut, leaving the basement together. Karako races back to the house- it looks like Chixie just pulled in from where ever it is that she goes during the day. 

The two of you walk out of the basement together in companionable silence, then she walks over to the vegetable garden. Marsti is harvesting some green beans and turnips from the garden, placing them into a little wicker basket. Chahut helps her check on the soil, watering some broccoli where the soil is dry, removing some lettuce with a twist from the ground. You help them to the best of your ability- there are some brussel sprouts that are ready to be harvested- you hang up the vine on the side of the fence for now, tidying up the soil for lack of something else to do.

Marsti tidies up as you say your goodbye’s, gathering all of her vegetables in her wicker basket, and Chahut joins you as you walk towards the lake with all of the vegetable scraps that didn’t meet Marsti’s harsh standards.

It’s a warm day, and the sun is still out. The sweat and grime from your training sticks to your skin, and you cuff up your pants, sitting down on the little bridge above the lake to trail your feet and hands through the water, wetting your face and slicking your hair back a little. Chahut joins you, sitting down next to you and throwing the scraps for the ducks.

“I need my phone back,” you didn’t realize how nervous you were; the renewed sweat on your palms is awful. “I forgot to ask.”

She gives you a sideways glance- confused- before startling. She looks so bewildered that you're surprised she didn’t smack her hand to her forehead in cartoonish realization.

“Oh dear me, of course,” she says, laughing. “You’re going to have to ask Chixie. She’s in charge of that sort of thing.”

You hum in acknowledgment and sit for a while longer. As the sun dips lower and lower towards the horizon, the air cools around you, sliding through your hair and against your face. Chahut is quiet beside you, but you’re comfortable with her presence. 

“You don’t have to live here, you know,” the soft sound of her voice breaks the silence between you. “I know it’s… a lot, with Karako and Marvus and… well, everyone.” She looks toward you, brows drawn up in concern.

You chew on that. You hadn’t even considered going back home- to be honest, you don’t really... Have a home. Staying in one place is a sure way to get caught, and you’ve never been one to plant your roots anyway. You think of your best friend. Your soulmate. Mallek. You wonder how he’s doing without you. A smirk creeps its way onto your face as you imagine him, scrambling around with his tablet, doing his best to keep his appointments in line without you to help him. He’s never been very organized.

“I like it here,” you say simply. And you leave it at that.

__

Chixie proves easy to find. From the center of the house, you hear the soft sounds of her voice. It’s a sound that’s always captivated you- soft yet dangerous, like shattered glass caught in velvet.

You find her sitting in the armchair, singing softly to Karako. She holds his hand to her ribcage, letting him feel the vibrations of her breath, her voice. You catch her eye, and she nods at you. It’s a wonder, how quickly she catches your meaning. You’ll have to ask her how she does that someday.

“We haven’t met officially yet!” She stands, cheerful. Unlike Chahut, she doesn’t seem to have the habit of signing for Karako- you watch him leave the room from the corner of your eye. “I’m Chixie!” Her speaking voice is very musical, almost sing-song in a way.

She walks with you to the kitchen and bustles about to make a pot of tea. You let her do her thing, and make a sandwich of your own while you’re waiting.

“You have a really strong voice,” you hate making small talk, but you haven’t quite gotten a read on her yet.

She gives a shy sort of smile as she thanks you, sitting down to join you at the table.

“I sing sometimes, at bars or cafes. I’m hoping to catch my big break,” she looks at you, sighing wistfully for dramatic effect as she places an elbow onto the table and leans the weight of her head onto her palm. She takes a bite of her sandwich and giggles like she just told you a very juicy piece of gossip. You laugh with her, not quite at ease but not feeling so shy either.

“Why not just ask Chahut? I’m sure she has connections…” Too late, you notice Chixie’s features harden. She’s still smiling, but it’s the sort of tense smile that cashiers give when someone is being particularly difficult.

“I think it’s better to make it on my own. I want to be recognized for my _talent_ ,” she bites off her sentence before sighing, letting some tension drain out from her body.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap!” She gives you another of those retail smiles. Shit, this is not going the way you planned. “I grew up without a lot of money. I guess I just want to feel like… I can do this my way. That everything I worked for was worth it.”

You… really don’t know what to say. You’ve blundered your whole way through this conversation and you desperately want out. 

“I understand,” if she caught the apprehension in your voice, she hides it very well behind her mask. “I.. uh… I need my phone. Please. If you still have it.” You blurt this out hastily. When the ship is going down, you say abandon ship. Looks like you’re abandoning ship with style this time. Fuck. 

She nods, standing to walk to her room, presumably. If that’s where she keeps your phone. This could have gone better. With a last ditch effort, you call her name, catching her attention. With a slight tensing of her shoulders, she stiffens before turning to face you.

“Think we can start that over? I really fucked that all up,” you give her a winning smile. You hope. You aren’t feeling your most charming right now.

But she laughs anyway- genuinely, you’re pretty sure. She holds out her hand, and, after a moment’s hesitation, you shake it.

“Nice to meet you,” you say. And she laughs, delighted.

___

Mallek meets you after your morning run.

It’s good to see him- there’s a sort of awkward pause where you see him, and he sees you, and you notice each other noticing each other but neither of you know what to do. So you do what you do best and rush headfirst into it. You crash into him, hugging him tightly, lifting him off the ground in your exuberance. He laughs straight into your ear, hugging you back and kissing you fondly on the temple. It feels like coming home, or like taking both of your shoes off after a long day. You’re so glad to see him.

“Miss me?” you ask, doing nothing to suppress your grin.

“You have no idea,” he grins back, running a hand through his hair. “Who knows how long it would have taken me to find someone who can slink around like you? You’re even a professional at getting caught.” He punctuates this with a playful jab of his elbow into your ribs.

“How are you getting out of there? Should I call a cab? We can retire to Canada, if you want,” he’s still joking with you, but the question startles you. It’s the second time someone’s asked you, but it twists around anxiously in your guts just as uncomfortable as the first time. In truth, you hadn’t even thought about leaving, even after Chahut mentioned it. You think of Chahut and her ducks. Karako, with his hand against Chixie’s torso, feeling her sing. And Marvus, joking with you and making you terrible sandwiches. You wouldn’t say that you feel at home, not exactly, but you feel like you’ve found a place for yourself. A new mystery, a puzzle to fill in.

But you know Mallek, and you know that sometimes too much truth can spoil a good thing, so you don’t answer right away.

“Me and you? Retire?” you give him a cheeky grin, and he snorts back. “You know we would just go back to sneaking around. Listening in and filling up the cracks. Stocking up our library.”

He gives you a fond, nostalgic smile at the metaphor, but you see him start to put his guard up. The way his arms cross defensively over his chest. The way his head bows down- just a little, but enough to tip you off. Even his smile can’t hide that. Even his laughter draws down the curtains. This isn’t how you wanted things to go. Damn it. It's just been that kind of week.

“Hey…” you call him. He’s less than two feet away, walking beside you, but you feel worlds and miles apart somehow. “I could really make something of this. I think… I mean, you could have a place there. By my side.” You grab him by the arms, shaking him playfully. It’s difficult to get the words out. You really don’t know what he’d do there. He likes his solitude and he likes his underground market. And you do get it, you really do. People depend on him. They seek him out and they need him and they owe him their favors. 

It isn’t enough. The two of you have wound your way through the park and found yourselves in front of the gates that lead up to Chahut’s… you want to call it an estate but it really is just a house. 

Mallek gives you a small, sad smile, grabbing you by both of your hands. “I’ve found my place in my world.” He leans in, kissing you goodbye on the cheek. “I’m happy for you, it seems like you finally found yours.” You know better than to argue with him. He gently releases your hands and turns on his heel, stuffing his hands back into the pocket of his hoodie. You watch him walk away, and you keep watching long after he’s gone.

But you don’t dwell on it. It’s almost dinner time, and there’s still so much to do.    
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opia: The ambiguous intensity of Looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable.
> 
> (I finally introduced Mallek in this chapter!! I just wanted to clarify that MC's relationship with him is totally up to you- platonic soulmates, moirallegiance, or your romantic, human boyfriend [this would make MC polyamorous in this fic]. I plan to write a few one-shots with him in this universe in the future.)


	3. Adronitis (Part 1 of 2)

The swirl of the laundry, tumbling around in the dryer in a parti-colored cyclone, hypnotized you again.

 _Damn it_ , you think. You have the whole afternoon off, but it already feels like you wasted it. You stand slowly, wiping off the lint from your pants and stretching your arms over your head. Your reluctance to leave the house is starting to plant a small seed of worry in the depths of your brain. But you never really were one for staying in one place, and you're surprised it took this long to catch up with you. Stagnation, time flowing slow and heavy around you- it's about time for something new. Your visit with Chahut to the rival family can't come soon enough, anxious though you are about it.

In an attempt to shake yourself out of your malaise, you wander around the house. Everything is meticulously clean, as usual- you wonder where Marsti goes on her days off. She keeps her outside life on the down low, even around you. Although, it's not like you can blame her. It really does feel like a different world here. A different page in a long lost story book. 

Two familiar voices ring out from the room at the end of the hall- you pause in the doorway.

“..must be so excited!” rings out Chixie’s voice, genuinely enthused.

“Yeah sis- you thinking about coming along for the ride? You could make a name for yourself out there,” Marvus’s voice, steeped in a put-on humor, is like a sweet tea gone bitter with time. This tone intrigues you- you listen on. 

“You know I won’t,” her tone is light, teasing, but even from your spot in the hallway, you feel an instinctive shame from the admonishment that’s barely hidden, plain in her voice like a sheer skirt hiding a knife against her hip. You wonder what history is between these two- this argument feels so well worn that you can imagine the tire tracks stuck in a well worn rut in the mud of their relationship.

“You should feel proud of _your_ success, Marvus,” Chixie’s tone has gone softer now, concerned. It's the sort of tone somebody makes when they touch someone physically to make up for the distance emotionally. You imagine Chixie with her small hand against his arm- even in your imagination, she's so hard to read. “There’s no point in dwelling on mine.” She seems to put an end to this conversation, her footsteps hitting the floor softly, becoming louder as she closes the distance between herself and your spot by the door. You gather yourself, doing your best to act like you just happened to be walking past that room. She brushes behind you, the air caught in her current is as cool against your back as her expression is as she looks, pointedly, away.

Between the two floors is that cubby you stowed away in on your first day here, with Chahut. It’s as good a place as any to relax, you figure, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you lounge comfortably on the cushioned bench closest to the window and watch the clouds pass by, letting your mind wander.

Light and warmth shine down on your tired muscles- though it’s starting to get cold out, the sun is shining bright and proud today. Tidy white clouds pass your field of vision as you look down upon the lawn. Karako has joined Chahut today at her pond- you’re too far away to see what they’re signing to one another, but you see Chahut pick up a duck with a silly sort of tenderness, and she passes it along to Karako, who holds and strokes it so seriously that you can read it through every line of his face and body even from here.

You press your cheek to the window- the glass cools your face where the sun has warmed it.

“I know a place with a much better view,” Marvus’s voice startles you out of your reverie. You turn to look at him- he’s ascending the stairs, albeit slowly. He looks like he has all the time in the world. You think back to the time he told you that he wakes up at six in the morning. You wonder if he’s starting to get sleepy.

He makes a ‘follow me’ gesture, and you’re up before you know it, drawn to him against every fiber of your being that just wants to sit in the sunlight.

You follow him up the stairs to the third floor. He opens the door to the guest room-slash-attic at the end of the hall, and you follow him in.

While you wouldn't say that the guest room looks comfortable, it does look lived in. Little flashes of Marvus's presence glare at your from all corners- there's a Snoop Dogg poster on the eastern wall (you can't tell if the poster is genuine or ironic), new silk pillowcases, a lava lamp that's slowly bubbling on the end table, and a fat little bean bag clown leaning haughtily against the wall next to it. This clown gives you a look so full of knowing judgement that you have to look away.

Marvus opens the window on the far side of the room, allowing access to the fire escape. The wind cuts at you, grabbing at you and burning against your skin like millions of tiny claws. It's fucking freezing out there, but you'll be damned at missing on opportunity to spend some time with him. Or anyone. Really. You're bored, maybe a little curious, that's all.

He lets you crawl through the window first, grabbing one of his sweatshirts for you. You've never been more grateful for anything in your life- the sun may be warm against your skin, but the wind is full and fraught with frost today. 

From the balcony, you let your eyes wander across the lawn. He was right- from up here, you can see the whole of the lake. For a few moments, you allow yourself to get mesmerized by the way the sunlight glitters on the waves made by the wind, and catch some of Karako's honking laughter as one of his ducks flies right out of his arms. You find him and Chahut sitting on the little bridge together, and, though her laughter isn't as loud, it's much more obvious, racking her whole body with it's force as she holds her stomach.

Marvus catches your attention again with a hand at the small of your back. The warmth of it seeps through the thick fabric of his hoodie, settling comfortably against your skin. He doesn't say anything, pointing up to the roof.

"What, you thought this was all?" He moves toward the wall, finding a well worn crack in the bricks as he hoists himself up, catching the lip of the roof under his hands. He moves like a dancer, sure and steady and in long, graceful arcs. He peeks his head out from over the lip, grinning at you and holding out his hand.

You find the same crack, jumping up to catch him, grabbing him steady by the forearm. In a similarly fluid motion, he pulls you up so that you can grab at the roof yourself, letting you take control. It's such a little, subtle thing, but you're glad he gave you agency there. You don't know what it is, but there's something about him that makes you want to be your best self. Calm and collected and capable.

He walks you to the edge of the roof, continuing to face the lake. Even up here, there are little flashes of him. Chalk drawings of lions and tightrope walkers are plentiful on the ground around you, and games of tick-tac-toe- you can't even imagine how he got Karako up here, but the style is unmistakably his. There are little bits of confetti and glitter blowing around in the wind, settling and getting caught around your shoes, and on the railing around the roof, Marvus has tied hundreds of silk handkerchiefs in more colors than you thought possible. The bob and sway in the wind, as comfortable and easy as Marvus himself. This rooftop feels even more lived in than the guestroom he currently occupies; it feels more like home. This is very clearly his space.

He sits at the railing without any fuss, and you join him without any fuss, bumping his knee with yours and catching his eye, letting the proximity of his body heat warm you through. He doesn't say anything just yet, a contemplative look on his face. Uh-oh, he's definitely going to ask you something that you don't want to answer.     

But for now, you’re grateful for the silence- for some reason, you never feel awkward around Marvus. Maybe it’s the way he’s so open about himself, how sure he is of the person he is. You take a deep breath- you can smell him beside you as the wind tousles his dreads your way, spicy and musky like cardamom and campfire smoke.

“What are you even doing here?” he says, breaking the silence. His expression is easy- he's laughing a little like he just told a joke, looking out towards the lake as the sun makes its slow way home beneath the horizon.

“Once I figure it out, I’ll be sure to let you know,” you smirk at him, jostling him with your shoulder although you realize that you aren’t just joking. You aren’t just flirting. All in a rush, everything comes to you, all at different angles and from different perspectives. Why are you staying here? Because the people are nice to you? Because you like the work? You wonder why you haven’t asked more questions. You wonder why this doesn’t bother you more- the anxiety that it doesn’t bother you, that it feels normal, kickstarts in your heart.

But Marvus either doesn’t notice the tension or he doesn’t let on that it affects him.

“I got this feeling like you’re from a different world. Something about you...” he starts, then stops abruptly, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts as he looks away. His smile finds his face again- fond but thoughtful, his eyes far away. “It’s like you never learned the rules ‘cause you never needed to.” He laughs, as if he’s impressed with you although you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“I guess I am kind of a force of nature,” you say with guarded humor. “My friend once said that people are like fires,” you start. Yeah, your ‘friend,’ the cosmopolitan article you read when you were 13. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“I always thought I was like lightning- loud and flashy, but gone in an instant,” You don’t know why you’re telling him this, except that maybe you aren’t sure what to say. Maybe you’re feeling a little down still, from your fallout with Mallek and your doubts about your life. It’s totally not because you’re trying to impress him.

But Marvus doesn’t seem to find you pathetic. In fact, the more you talk, the larger his smile gets, like a wave rising tall above the sea.

“That’s, ha,” he pauses as he gets a hold of himself. “I was thinking on something similar a few days ago.” He gives you a side eye, not quite meeting your gaze all the way.

“I’m fireworks,” he states this so quickly, without any doubt, that you think maybe he read the same article. “Flamboyant, attention grabbing, but ultimately temporary. But ain't that the point?” He laughs darkly. You have no idea what he means.

He tucks a stray loc behind his ear, staring out into the sunset. Though he’s still smiling, his expression has gone somber, suddenly, his head tilted in a way that you can’t interpret. He leans forward onto the bars that separate the two of you from the open air, crossing his arms into each other and leaning his chin on them with an exhale.

“I’m gonna change the world,” he says this simply, as if it’s inevitable. Easy. As if he can’t imagine a world where he fails. And you believe him.

“I wish I had your confidence,” You look away from him to hide your wistful smile. There isn’t much more to say, so you drift off into a comfortable silence. Well, you’re comfortably silent, anyway. Marvus is humming a tune to himself, quietly enough so that he doesn’t disturb you, but loud enough to let you in on the secret.

And though he isn't singing, he may as well be, his whole body alight with music and his expression lighting up the more he hums. And you get it, suddenly, why he has so many people who follow him, how it was so easy for him to become the person he is. You can't claim to be an expert on Marvus Xoloto, not being the celebrity gossip type yourself, but you have heard of him. Who hasn't, honestly- but now you're starting to know him. And you realize he never became the person he is, he never had to work for it. He simply always has been Marvus Xoloto, and all of these years he's spent in the public eye is letting the world get a glimpse of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, bitches, bet you'd thought you'd seen the last of this story.
> 
> Joking aside, I have been having difficulties writing it- I've lost the love for the plot BUT it's possible that love might come back. I'm not going to abandon this, but updates are definitely not going to be regular like I'd first hoped. I have a few WIPs with plots that I like better that are taking up more of my time.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience and understanding.


End file.
